


No More Lonely Nights

by Anonymous



Category: Give My Regards to Broad Street (1984), The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Abduction, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Crying, Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Kidnapping, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Size Kink, Verbal Humiliation, no physical harm but not a light read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26892673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: While watching the awful film "Give my Regards to Broad Street", I was drawn to that one scene where the "Big Bob" character pulls Paul back by the arm very easily. Paul's rather tall despite his prettiness, so it was neat seeing him being maneuvered like that, and by somebody much bigger too. I got to wondering what it'd be like if Bob chose to have his way with him.
Relationships: Paul McCartney/Big Bob
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18
Collections: Anonymous





	No More Lonely Nights

Your schedule for today is:

  * 9:30am meeting
  * 10:30am recording studio
  * 12:30pm film studio
  * 4:00pm rehearsal
  * 5:30pm interview



You will then take a short break!

4:00pm

It was 4 pm, and as per his schedule, Paul was driving up to the warehouse where his band rehearsed. The warehouse was by a river, the acoustics were good, and people wouldn’t complain of noise. It was a nice place to practice really, really set the tone.

Harry Torrington, a reformed criminal Paul had hired, had disappeared last night with his newly recorded tapes. Tapes which were supposed to arrive at the factory today. According to this year's figures, they would be worth about 6 million pounds, so getting them back was a pressing issue.

Harry hadn’t always been on the right side of the law, but he’d sworn he’d gone straight. He seemed genuine, so Paul had hired him out of good faith. Harry swore to him that he had been framed, people were out to get him, ever since he was a kid. Paul thought his judgement was sound, now not so much.

Harry’s girlfriend, Sandra, was with him, and was broken up by his absence. She said he hadn’t come home last night, and she hadn’t heard from him.

Pulling into the car park, his driver’s car skid, scraping a blue pickup truck. The driver got out, worried at the scratches he had made on it. They were very numerous and noticeable.

“Oh dear oh dear” he said

“Uh you better take Sandra to her place I think,” Paul told him, then turned to console Sandra “don’t worry love, we’ll sort it out.”

5:20pm

During his rehearsal, Paul had been having an extremely vivid daydream of Harry selling his tapes to Big Bob for an obscene amount of bills in a suitcase. The fantasy was so life-like, that he found himself yelling out: “Don’t do it! Don’t do it!” in the middle of his song somehow.

This resulted in Paul’s microphone giving out an awful feedback screech, causing him to wince and cover his ears.

“Sorry, my fault. Let’s have a break yeah? cup of tea or somethin...” he trailed off “...Little break, yeah?”

He saw that very Big Bob from the end of the warehouse. He watched the rehearsal, the rays of light falling on his furry coat trim. He had on a wide brimmed hat, though his face obscured by clouds of cigarette smoke.

Paul walked toward him, then they both walked off to a more well lit area of the warehouse.

At 6’11” and over 200 pounds, Bobby positively towered over him. This wasn’t something Paul was used to. Even with his feminine figure, and manner of carrying himself, he still had his height. Now, not so much. He had to look up to meet Bob’s gaze, it was all a bit intimidating, like he was a kid or something. Paul didn’t show his apprehension though, he remained composed and suave as he always was.

“What’s happening there Big Bob?”

“Well your man gave me a call, so I slipped into something comfortable, ‘hopped into my new pickup, and here I am. You like it?”

“What?”

“Me new pickup truck” Bob chided, gesturing toward the entrance.

“Oh Yeah, s’nice” Paul forced an uptilt, feigning enthusiasm.

“What’s it all about then, me old frock?” Bob sat down on an amp, and took off his hat. Paul took a seat as well.

“You haven’t seen Harry then?”

“Harry who? Harry James and the golden trumpet?” Bob then snarkily said, “or Hare Krishna?”

Quite the knave Bob was.

“No, Torrington. He works for us.”

“Oh him.” Bob shook his head “Can’t say as I have. Not lately anyhow. Has he gone absent without leave?”

“No, it’s just his Miss is a bit worried about him”

“Not been up to his old tricks has he? Cos he had quite a promising career as a young lad you know. Could have done very well with me.”

“No, he gave that all up when he joined us. He told me he had enough of the bent life.”

“Not easy, tried it once. Lots of willpower needed. I gave up smoking for two weeks...” Bob took a drag off his cigarette, then whilst coughing: “...Health reasons.”

“Yeah, anyway listen bob, I gotta shoot over to the BBC so uh, thanks for coming it was nice seeing ya.” Paul gave him a parting handshake, then made a move to turn, “See ya.”

“Hey, uh,”

Bob pulled him back by his jacket sleeve, making him fall back on his step. Bob being able to physically maneuver Paul so casually always gave him a start.

“How’s yer record coming on then?”

“S’alright”

“You fancy a deal on the side?” He said slyly “Able to offer you very attractive terms at the moment”

Paul made a face at that, rolling his head dismissively.

“No, tall bob, it’s all legal nowadays”

“Well what’s it all about then?”

“Oh we’re just wondering about Harry, someone said he’d been to see you, and uh” Paul shrugged

Bob lightly nudged his shoulder

“Look I’ll keep an eye out for him”

“Which one?”

“Me left one. Heh heh heh heh heh.”

Bob waved, and Paul winked, again making a move to walk off

“Oh wait,” Bob said, “come to think of it there’s something I gotta talk to you ‘bout.”

“You what?”

“Can ya step out? S’important.”

“Well, I’m all done here, but I’ve gotta get to my interview in a minute”

“I’ll be quick then, c’mon”

They stepped out of the warehouse onto the stairs to take you down to where the cars were parked. It seemed to have rained, the ground was damp and there was fog over the river. There was nobody hanging about it seemed.

“Right, what’s so important that we gotta talk out ‘here?”

“Ah there’s me new pickup truck, ya see? She’s a beaut int she.”

“S’not just to show off your car is it?”

“No s’not that,” Bob said, then noticed the scrapes, immediately becoming enraged. “Eh?! Who’s done this to m’ pickup?!” He walked up to it and traced the scrapes with his fingers.

“I dunno, sorry that happened, Bobby.”

“S’alright,” Bob pushed his anger down, he had a matter to discuss with him after all. “Well, now that you’re out ‘here, why don’t you take a look at what I’ve got in the back?”

“The back?” Paul didn’t know what to expect, Bob had his tapes after all? He didn’t say they were gone though. He walked down the vehicle, checking the cargo area.

Empty?

“Bobby s’nothing in here-“

Before he had a chance to turn around to question him, a damp cloth was pressed firmly to his face, covering his mouth and nose. The adrenaline kicked in, and Paul tried to struggle, clawing at the hand pressing it to him, but it was no use. Bob brought his other hand around his stomach, nearly lifting him off the ground. It was impossible to run off or wrestle free.

He let out muffled calls for help, but with every breath he was getting groggier. His hands pawed at the cloth weakly, but his head felt like it was filled with glue.

—-

When Paul regained consciousness, he wasn’t certain how much time had passed. It was like he had just awoke from a nap, groggy, and was quite confused at not being in his own place. The bed was simple, a bit old. He was lying atop some winter blankets. The bedroom he was in had a rustic look to it.

There wasn’t anything descript, clutter, a dresser, and an oil painting of a meadow. It would’ve been charming if it wasn’t for the lack of upkeep, a coating of dust on the furniture and curtains.

He squinted. There was light coming from an oil lamp on the nightstand, but it seemed like the sun had nearly set. From the window he didn’t see any buildings, just some branches brushing against the glass. Where was he? Couldn’t be London.

His next hazy realization was that his hands were tied together above his head, the other end to the wooden headboard. He couldn’t quite sit up. He was in a reclining position, propped up by some pillows. He tugged at it, but the ropes were thick. He would need a knife or something to cut him free.

He grew worried, and he tugged a few more times anxiously. He was fully clothed just as before, minus his coat and shoes. He wasn’t hurt. Maybe it was Harry?

Couldn’t be. Harry wouldn’t, even if he went back on his word. Ransom maybe? That might be it. Only him and his crew knew that the tapes were missing, even Big Bob didn’t seem to know-

...It was Bob. The last thing he remembered was being asked to meet him outside. When they were out of sight, Bob had incapacitated him and drove him away in his new pickup truck. Paul’d been careless, stupid.

It’s true Bob wasn’t exactly in line with the law, but he didn’t expect him to pull something like this.

Paul hadn’t mentioned the disappearance of the tapes though. Bob didn’t seem to know about Torrington either.

A door creaked open from behind on his left side, Paul craned his head, but couldn’t see around the corner. As he suspected, it was Bobby.

“Awake then? Took you a bit. ‘Fraid you missed yer interview.”

“What’s the meaning of this then? You want something from me, Bob?”

“For starters, I’d like to see about the tapes.”

Bob took a seat at the edge of the bed, dipping the mattress he was looking down at Paul darkly.

If the height difference wasn’t intimidating otherwise, this angle and vulnerable position was worse. Bob didn’t even seem malicious, his expression read more amused. Paul didn’t like the way he was looking at him, measuring him up, like he was something to eat.

Paul glowered, and shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t going to let his confidence waver, worst thing you can do in this sort of situation.

“Look I’m sorry, I wasn’t straight with you.” he said “Listen, don’t know where the tapes are. Bob look, I’m trying to find them. Last place I know of was with Harry, but we don’t know where he is.”

“Torrington? Ah, so that’s why you was asking about him. And I was led to believe you was worried about the Miss.” His tone was conversational, too much so.

“Yes. sorry. I had my suspicions, right?” Paul snipped “But honest, bob, I hadn’t seen them since Harry took them the night before. Happy? We can work something out, but you’ve got to let me go.”

Bob leaned in closer, examining his face closely, possibly looking for tells. He gripped his chin between thumb and forefinger, much to Paul’s indignation.

“I’ve always liked you, the pretty one. Thought you was a girl, such big eyes, pretty lashes, dainty mouth. And still as pretty as you always was. Age hasn’t done a thing to ya.”

Paul’s eyebrows furrowed in his grip

“S’that supposed to mean?”

“Those tapes are worth ‘round 6 Mill ain’t they? S’ a good amount. ’S no problem though if you can’t tell me where they are.” Bob paused, thoughtfully, letting his demands sink in. He gripped his chin tighter, making Paul look right at his face.

“See, I either can come away with that money, or finally be able to find out how nice ‘the cute one’ would feel ‘round me”

Paul’s eyes went wide as saucers, his fear evident. He shook his face out of Bob’s grip.

“You can’t be serious, Bobby, I-“

Bob lifted from his seat at the edge of the bed. He crept over to Paul, and swung a leg over his body, straddling him. Between Bob’s weight and the rope, he was nearly immobilized. Bob weighed down on him, firmly pressing him to the mattress. Paul’s heart was racing, eyes darting around to see if Bob was bluffing.

“You’d look right good getting a proper fucking, that sweet little arse of yours. You’re such a tease. I’ve always wanted to fuck ya.”

Paul lay in shocked horror, unable to come up with what to say to that.

Bob moved his hands to Paul’s chest, caressing him as if he had breasts. He traced the curves running from Paul’s ribs to his hip bones.

Paul wasn’t small in size, 180cm tall in fact. Even moreso that he grew out of the slender figure he had in the early 60s, but Bob’s large hands in proportion easily encircled his shaking body.

His floral shirt crumpled at the administrations, getting untucked from his trousers. He shuddered when Bob slipped a hand under it, touching his bare flesh. Paul’s hair stood on end at the feeling of Bob’s rough palm against the soft skin of his stomach, struggling to hold back a whimper when Bob tugged harshly at his left nipple.

“If it’s money you want… I’ve got money, Bobby.” Paul’s voice was wavering, breaths getting shallower. This was worse than just being moved about. It was invasive.

“I know that. I don’t want yer money.” He chuckled “Doubt you have 6 mil on hand.”

“Honest, I don’t know where they are! I swear! god, I swear that I don’t!” Paul shook his head. He grew more irrational, unable to detach himself from the touches. Bob must be messing with him, and it was working. But he had nothing to give him!

“I believe ya. I do. If you don’t know ‘bout the tapes, don’t worry. I’ll still what I want from ya.”

“Bobby, please! I don’t know about the fuckin’ tapes, oh god. Just let me go, please let me go.” He was now panicking, now dropping his confident facade. So much for that approach. Paul’s face hot from embarrassment, eyes threatening to tear up.

Bob’s hands gripped the sides of Paul’s hips, thumbs tracing the hipbone, feeling the shape of him, moving up his shaking thighs.

“You have a feminine figure even, see? Your little waist and hips curve into your legs all nicely.”

To punctuate this, bob squeezed his hips sharply, Paul hissed. He was beginning to think this wasn’t just a mind game. His eyes darted around, he was actually crying now. He was a 42 year old man, and he was crying. How was this happening so late in his life?

“I won’t fuckin’ go tell no one, just let me go! It’ll be like it never happened, oh god Bobby”

“Can’t, have to have ya.” He tapped Paul’s scrunched up face “Quiet now.”

Bob went to undo the top button of Paul’s shirt. Bob lifted himself up a bit relieving the pressure on Paul’s lower body. In desperation, Paul kicked him with his free leg.

Bob raised his eyebrows then lifted Paul by the bend of his knee, displacing his seating. Paul fell to his back, knocking out his breath. Bob gripped Paul’s face between thumb and forefinger again, forcing eye contact.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were ya. Look at yourself. Even if I didn’t restrain ya, you’d not have much of a shot ‘against me.” Bob grinned down at him patronizingly, taking in the pitiful state Paul was in. Teary eyes, red scrunched up face, his hair mussed up, and his crumpled untucked shirt. Bob increased the pressure in his grip to solidify his point

“I wouldn’t want to rough up your pretty face, now, would I?”

Bob was right. Tears flowed down his cheeks freely as he allowed his shirt to be fully unbuttoned. He bit his lip as Bobby caressed his chest, once more. This was worse as the cool air of the room solidified the hands even more. Paul couldn’t control his trembling, and Bob could likely see right through him.

“Yer skin’s such a pretty color, no hair neither. it’s a shame you had to be a man. That’s without bringin’ up yer face too.” Bob pressed down on both his nipples “I’d love to get my teeth on these.”

Paul’s eyes widened and he retreated into himself at that comment. When Bobby hooked his fingers around the rim of his trousers, his body jerked back again.

“Don’t, Bobby, please! I don’t know what else to give ya, I don’t have the tapes, I have the money, what do I have to do?”

“s’alright, It won’t hurt ya.”

“No, Bobby, don’t! We can still work something out! Don't!”

Bob unzipped Paul’s fly with one hand, holding his hip still with the other. He reached into Paul’s pants, encircling him gently in his palm.

Previously he’d been panicked at the anticipation, but at the actual feeling of being touched in that sensitive place, his heart stalled. He lay completely still, afraid to move and provoke him somehow. Bob caressed the head with his thumb.

“So you was a man after all, figured so.”

Bob stroked and squeezed at it, luckily not with full strength, which would likely crush it. Paul still lay deathly still, unable to speak, not willing to test his luck.

Bob started to stroke him to size, Paul began whimpering. Bob teased at his head, rubbing at the shaft, feeling him up like some new toy. Bob’s eyes were fixed on Paul’s wide terrified ones, scoping out his reactions, Paul found that he kept glancing back at them, unable to shake off the feeling of being observed.

Why was this happening to him? It’s not his fault he looked like this, no more than anyone with some facial deformity. He used it to charm women, and men to an extent, to get what he wanted. It was also a source of ridicule, too pretty for a man, wasn’t he? He must be the innocent one, or incapable of being as good a musician as his old partner. Feminine mannerisms didn’t help much, but how could he help that either?

Once he began to get the constant admiration, he had no more issues with self confidence, but didn’t want this sort of attention.

“Look at ya, so small, Paulie. ’s an unfair comparison I ‘suppose. M’used to the size of mine. It’s very cute, ‘expected as much. Looks like a candy, all pink and soft.”

Despite Paul’s repulsion, the stimulation was able to get him hard. It didn’t shoot right up like when he was younger, but the consistent touches were resulting in this physiological reaction, even with his stomach feeling like it would jump out of his throat. It was disgusting, but each rough swipe over his head was sending pleasure right to Paul’s core.

Paul put up a fight again when Bob let go of his erect member, and went to fully tug off his trousers. He tried to bring his legs up towards his chest to no avail, and thrashed his head back and forth. Bob tossed them away, leaving him in just his pants and unbuttoned shirt. He shivered, his skin exposed to more of the cold air.

Bobby ran his hands up his legs, Paul’s fuzzy thigh hair tickling him. Paul didn’t dare kick out again.

Bobby brought his face close, biting and tasting Paul’s inner thighs. Paul couldn’t do much to stop it, as Bob held his legs apart at the bend of his knees. It felt gross to feel the warmth and wetness in such intimate areas. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him.

He had only just gotten used to the invasive touches, when Bob made the move to discard his pants.

Paul squeezed his legs to his chest, firmly pressing them together close to him with more desperation than before.

“Oh no, not that, anything but that!” Paul shouted “Please, Bobby, you can’t do this to me.”

Paul’s sobs were making it difficult, but after some breaths, he was able to continue with his pleading.

“You’ve made your point, alright?! you’ve felt me up like a girl, you’ve humiliated me. You're right, You’re stronger than I am! I’m effeminate, and small, and can’t do anything to prevent this! I’m sorry! I get it! But, but, you’d have to kill me for that!” He tried to reason, curling further into himself, eyes desperate.

In response, Bob took hold of his nipples tightly, nails digging into them. Bob pulled harshly upwards, away from his body. Paul felt like he was trying to tear them off, Bob probably could tear them off if he pulled any harder. The pain was unbearable.

Paul began screaming, but Bob didn’t relent until Paul ruefully unclenched his legs, dreading what would come next. He clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to stop any more sounds threatening to escape him.

“S’right, good boy.”

Bob caressed down his neck, down his belly as Paul’s chest heaved.

When Bob’s hand caught on his waistband, Bob tugged them down, fully exposing Paul to him. The cold air hit his heated member, standing erect and aroused for Bob to take it in. Even with his eyes shut tight, he could feel Bob's eyes boring into him, scanning his pale body, like a vulture preparing to tear apart a dead animal.

Paul’s legs lay relaxed on either side of him, trembling in resistance to his urge to cover himself again. He had his face turned into his shoulder, his only method of distancing himself. His delicate hands twisted in his binding, grasping around the length of rope connecting him to the headboard. He tried unsuccessfully to hold back from shaking, and regain some of his pride.

His stomach turned as Bob toyed at his pubic hair. (“you’ve got quite a bit don’tcha?”) Nob then traced a large finger down the spine of his erection feeling the way it curved upwards. Bob encircled his silt, his other hand lightly holding his balls.

If anything, Paul was thankful that Bob wasn’t as rough with it as the rest of his body. He cringed to think of this part of him being squeezed and groped at aggressively like his hips and chest were.

Still keeping his eyes closed, he had to refrain from jumping at every new touch. Paul didn’t make a move to block him again, but brought his legs up closer to him for some semblance of security.

He heard the unbuckling of a belt and another flood of sobbing befell him.

He felt a hot heavy weight slide over his dick, and opened his eyes a fraction.

“See, yours is no comparison to mine. it’s so cute though, pressing up against it with all its strength.”

Paul hated being patronized like this, this “cute little thing” had likely been in more women than Bob had even seen. At 14cm, he was a completely normal size.

...But Bob’s was nearly a third bigger than his, thick too. It weighed down his dick, obscenely leaking precum onto Paul’s soft stomach.

While Paul’s was rather “pretty” (as Bob commented on, calling it a “candy”), Bob’s was grotesque, veiny, engorged, seeming more like the organ it was.

He felt a wave of nausea as he thought of what Bob was planning to do with it, he frantically shook his head, pushing down his urge to vomit.

“It won’t fit! You’ll tear me apart. I’ll fuckin’ die Bob if you put that in me, please!” He begged. His knees retreated inwards again regardless of what Bob may do.

“I’m not going to put it in ya dry. I’m not that ‘orrible ya know. Fucking ya’d be no fun if you was in terrible pain the ‘whole time”

Bob grinned devilishly

“Nah, I’d rather wanna see ya moanin’ and ‘pleadin’ for more as I fuck ya.”

Bobby reached to the nightstand and pulled out a bottle, coating his right hand in liquid.

McCartney had his eyes shut tight, accentuating the wrinkles he now had there. It was so peculiar that he lived his life without this happening just to have it happen when he was over forty. He would’ve rather expected it when he was young and still had his baby face, though security around him was tighter then.

He felt pressure against his arse. He whined as it didn’t relent, rather increase at the resistance. When Bob’s digit popped inside him he cried out. Only one of Bobby’s fingers was already too big. Every part of him was big. It didn’t tear thanks to the lube, but it felt horrible to have something inside of him, much more intrusive than the touches.

“You’re so tight, doubt you’ve been fucked before. A shame, really, would’ve loved to have ya in ‘64.”

Bob looked thoughtful

“my fingers may even be a stretch m’afraid. You can take it, yer a tough one. It’ll still hurt if ya don’t relax.”

Bob kept up the unrelenting pressure, until he was able to get another in, and another. Paul felt stretched to his limits, but the lubrication made it so there was no friction or burning. It also made it easier to slip into him despite the resistance, which was horrible in itself. His teeth were gritted, he flexed his thighs that were splayed wide apart because of the insertions. He couldn’t fight back, he couldn’t block what was going into him, only lie there and take it. Awful.

“Oh-“

Paul gasped abruptly, inexplicably. Bob's fingers had brushed against a spot against him, making his eyesight blur. The feeling went straight to his dick, a sharp wave of pleasure.

“I’ve ‘heard about this, there’s a spot inside ya that feels nice. S’what I was lookin’ for.”

Bob didn’t let up and kept massaging that one damned spot. Paul had trouble keeping his voice in, he kept leaking onto his stomach, clearly very hard now. It was bringing him very close and it horrified him. He was stretched taut over Bob's fingers, squirming around inside of him, it felt like they were touching exposed nerves. He felt more vulnerable than ever. He hated the pleasure. hated it. hated it. Why didn’t Bob just take what he wanted? Paul didn’t want Bob to make him cum. He didn’t want Bob to see him cum.

“Ah, you like this. There’s a good lad. Knew you’d enjoy getting ‘fingered. Knew from the first mo’ I set my eyes on ya, this s’what ya needed. Sweet Paulie, Pretty little Paulie, darling Paulie...”

He pressed into the spot harder at each ‘Paulie’, drawing out a high involuntary moan each time.

Was he getting a kick out of humiliating him? He could’ve just fucked him if that’s what he wanted, why was he toying with him like this. Maybe he could live with himself if Bob had just had his way with him, then let him go to deal with the trauma from it. Why did he have to play these mind games, forcing him to whine and moan for him. Maybe this was just part of his power play.

Bob then tightly gripped the base of his shaft, and began purposefully avoiding the spot, in favor of adding a fourth finger and stretching him out further. Involuntarily, Paul groaned at the loss of simulation.

“Now, I don’t want ya to cum so fast. Otherwise you’ll be too sensitive when I’m fucking ya, ya won’t want it. I want you to end up wanting it, see.”

Jesus, he was going to get fucked. He’d been groped, fingered like a girl, bitten, and exposed, but that was another level entirely, he couldn’t come back from this. Bob’s massive fucking dick was going to be forced inside him, he’d be fucked against the headboard, and bob wanted to see him cum from it.

Worse yet, he’d have the fact that another man fucked him, went inside him, hanging over his head until the day he died. That a man used his body for pleasure, that he came whilst being fucked like a girl. He wanted to scream again, whine, cry, but what would it do?

“I dunno if it’s enough, but this is as far as I can stretch ya I’m afraid,”

Bob pushed his legs apart as they would go, and moved Paul’s hips back for an easier entrance, he pulled his arse apart, the cold air hitting it. Paul’s eyesight was blurry from new tears, squinting up at the dim lights bouncing off the ceiling. He had to pretend he was somewhere else, that this wasn’t happening.

Paul’s eyes shot open when he felt something hot and hard graze against his inner thigh. He saw Bobby lining himself, preparing to go into him, to go into him! He became hyper aware again. How did Bob expect it to fit? He was going to fuck him!

He didn’t care what Bob did to him, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he didn’t care.

He blocked Bob with his shins, pressing his legs together and into his chest with all his strength.

“You can’t! S’not gonna fit Bobby. Please don’t, Bobby. Bobby, don’t. I’ll give you the fucking tapes, anything but this, I can find the money if that’s what you want. I’ll pay it off, I’ll find a way to get it. I don’t fuckin’ care. I’d be fucking poor, I’ll sell my things, property, whatever. You don’t have ta fuckin’ do this!”

This time, Bob didn’t hurt him until he yielded. He simply, wordlessly took Paul’s knees and easily pulled them apart, despite Paul’s full strength being used to the contrary.

Bob must’ve not even needed to hurt him the time before, it was just to mess with him, getting him to submit willingly.

His soft thighs shook futilely in Bob’s grasp, still attempting to close. Bobby gripped tightly, leaving white marks.

When Bob’s blunt head started to press against his entrance, any attempt to keep him out was useless. It was still difficult despite Bob’s strength, as he was trying to put a large object into such a tight passage, but with all the lubrication, it would slip in eventually. Paul sobbed, tears rolling out again, as he shook his head back and forth.

Paul cried out painfully when it breached him, he just lay there gasping for a moment, eyes wide. He was stunned by the massive intrusion. His legs were spread very far apart to accommodate it. When the pain of the stretch hit, he let out a lengthy cry. He felt like he was being split in two. His thighs were spread very far apart and intermittently twitching in the air.

“I feel for ya, I do. Must be tough taking such a big size yer first time. You can handle it, yer strong.”  
Paul kept sobbing and shaking his head. Bob pulled out a small amount then roughly pushed in even further, Paul screamed some more.

“The sounds you make, It feels so nice in ya, like my dick is melting off. Yer very tight though.”

Bob was moving very small amounts in hope of stretching him out more.

“Why? I didn’t do nothing to you, Bobby!” Paul whined, his voice coarse “It hurts, it hurts, Bobby”

Bob kneaded his abdominals and hips, soothing the tensed up muscles.

“S’alright baby, give yourself a mo, you’ll adjust.”

Luckily Bob didn’t go further in, but he began touching up his body again. Bob ran his hands up his sides, grabbing at the fat there. Paul wasn’t especially muscular, he had a softness to his body that added to the feminine quality of him. He felt humiliated at it being felt up like this, attention being given to his chest especially. His chest had always been sensitive there much to his dismay.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin, he couldn’t escape the feeling of Bob’s hands on his skin, or the intrusion inside him.

He wondered if it’d be any different if he didn’t look like this. Maybe he would be held for ransom, or only threatened by violence.

People always felt entitled to touching him. He didn’t mind the women, he wanted their hands on him. He would get surrounded, and they would kiss his cheeks, touch his hair, grab onto his arms. He’d take one up to his room and Paul could lie there, and she’d keep touching him. Pretty hands on his chest, on his dick. Pretty women with soft bodies, and pretty hands, pretty as they rode him, pretty lips sucking him off. So pretty and soft.

It was the men who were the problem.

On the set of his first film, the stagehands would attempt to put their hands on him. One time he even felt a large hand curl around his thigh from behind, and grab him hard through his pants. It only lasted but a second, but when he turned round there was no one there.

It was difficult with so many people packed on to the set. That one stagehand was bolder, but it wasn’t infrequent that he felt a hand squeeze his hip, or a palm graze dangerously low on his back. If he did manage to catch a glimpse, they would play it off as an accident, or move onto their tasks wordlessly.

He was younger then, and had more of a baby face. far from intimidating, his soft cheeks making him seem even girlier. He couldn’t do much besides try to stay in the foreground of the shots, sticking with his bandmates. It wasn’t as if anybody would take him seriously if he brought up the issue. They’d say he was making things up, or maybe that he wanted it to happen, so he thought it was. That was the downside of having his pretty face.

Bob moved his hands up his to cup Paul’s cheeks. He pushed his thumb into Paul’s mouth, past his teeth. He was holding his face in a way where Paul couldn’t bite down. Paul grimaced and gagged as the pad of Bob’s thumb pressed down on his tongue, reveling in the gulping noises he made. It was already hard to breathe with the crying.

“As nice as you’d look with me down yer throat, I won’t risk having it near yer teeth heh heh. Bunny rabbit.”

Paul gulped at this, petrified. Bob rubbed a thumb across his cheek, smearing the tears.

“Such a pretty face you’ve got. Shame about the state it’s in. Maybe if I’d had given you an aphrodisiac you’d have a better time of it.”

Bob wrapped a hand around Paul’s member that had been pressed between them, and toyed with his sensitive head and frenulum, smearing around his pre. Paul was still hard despite it all, as he wasn’t experiencing any injury, only the feeling of being stretched to his limits.

Then Bob began to force himself further in, as Paul stiffed up again in horror. Bob went further in than he thought possible, splitting him apart.

He wished he hadn’t looked down. Bob’s waist was flush against him, Paul’s thighs pulled far apart, his lower legs curled around Bob’s large waist.

He cringed when he realized that this would be the point of view of all the women he’d fucked, back in the days where he had a different one each night.

Maybe this was some twisted karmic retribution for how he had used and tossed women away, as if they were toys, during his younger days. He’d been bad to Jane when they were together, but he’d changed! Since he married his wife, he’d been with her every single night. He was faithful. He thought he’d atoned for his sins. He didn’t think it’d come back to bite him in the ass.

After he had time to adjust, Bobby pulled out an inch, then thrust back in, prompting another scream from Paul. Even the screams were hurting due to the roughed up state of his throat. He couldn’t even have that. He may have to take an absence from singing, if he even decided to continue with it.

Bob began to move inside of him at a consistent pace, not being tentative like before. Paul couldn’t avoid the awful sensation of him sliding against his inner walls. He’d never felt something like this before.

At the very least he was thankful Bob didn’t go in him dry. As humiliating and invasive as it was, if he had gone in without preparation, his guts may well have been obliterated. That massive girth tearing into his tiny opening, and horrible, horrible pain. He could quite possibly die from the loss of blood, or be permanently injured.

Once he had a rhythm, Bob began to find and purposely hit the spot inside of him more often than not, reintroducing the moans Paul had made earlier when he was being fingered. Paul’s face reddened at the focus on him, and the noises forced out of him. Awful.

He hated it, each time Bob hit it, a rush of pleasure made its way to Paul’s lower abdomen. He didn’t want to feel pleasure. Paul was leaking onto his stomach, getting it on his chest as well. Bob held Paul’s dick loosely in his hand, red and pulsing, squeezing it hard every time he hit his prostate. Paul felt his orgasm building up inside of him.

Paul felt sick, all the fluid, and the rough hands, and worst of all, the feeling of it inside him. All he could think of was wanting to run and hide, and try to clean himself somehow. Scrub this experience out of existence, but every thrust got him closer and closer.

Bob was holding Paul by the meat of his hips, and he was sure his thumbs would leave marks. The hands kept touching him, pushing his thighs forward, cupping his chest, squeezing his face. It was mortifying.

Out of nowhere Bob started jerking him off furiously. Paul yelled at the unexpected rise in stimulation, and before he processed it, he was cumming. Bob stroked him through it, as his cum splattered onto his own body. Bob drew out loud, beautiful moans and cries from him, sounds that only such a sweet voiced singer like him could make.

Bobby was still thrusting, Paul’s dick in his fist. Once Paul was beginning to come down from his high, The stimulation turned painful, and he once again started crying out in pain. Bob got what he wanted, he got the satisfaction of seeing Paul cum. Cum whilst being fucked by him. He got to hear the noises he made.

Luckily it didn’t last, Paul felt bursts of warmth liquid being shot into him, signifying bob had finished.

Bob stayed inside him a moment longer, keeping the liquid inside.

Paul was utterly disgusted by the feeling, disgusted with himself. It felt revolting inside him, warm and filling him up. He could feel it move around, and he wanted to vomit. He needed it out.

Bob had a stupid vindicated grin on his face, keeping it in there. Hadn’t he had his fun? Paul just wanted to leave.

Paul didn’t feel a light inside him anymore, he felt utterly drained of spirit. It was as if Bob cut him open and took all that was in there.

“Y’took it so well. I wonder if s’enough to get you pregnant. You’d be a sweet ‘little housewife.”

Paul had begun sobbing again, he didn’t want to talk anymore, but he managed to choke out

“Can I go? You’re done then?”

Bob didn’t answer, but looked over his handiwork a final time. Paul gazed into the distance, dead eyed.

Much to his dismay, as soon as Bob pulled out, he replaced himself with some sort of plug, keeping the fluid inside him. If his hands weren’t bound, he would be clawing at his skin, trying to get everything out of him, trying to scrub himself clean. He was covered in sweat, his own semen was drying on himself, and he could still feel the places Bob had grabbed onto him. He could never rid himself of the memory of how it felt to be touched.

Worst of all was the fluid inside him, constantly being aware of it, proving that this had happened, and there was cum inside him, being kept inside him.

Bob wiped some of Paul’s cum onto his finger, licking it clean, (“sweet as honey”) then grinning down at him again.

He shut his eyes tight when Bob grabbed his chin. He clamped down on the hollows of his cheeks, forcing his mouth open, then licking into it. It was horrible, having to taste his mouth as well.

Bob did this until he was satisfied, though Paul did not open his eyes until long after he stopped hearing movement around the room.

He still had his shirt on, though unbuttoned. He couldn’t push the plug out despite his efforts. He didn’t want to think about the state of his arse anyhow. It was awfully sore, his whole body felt empty and worn out. His eyes were red from the crying, and his throat was torn up. He could still taste Bob from earlier. He had the bruises, and some places where his body hair was slicked down due to moisture. And his fucking cum still inside him. That was the worst. He whined again, it seeping into him, his body absorbing it.

He laid there for an indeterminate amount of time, and didn’t recall drifting off.

—————————

The next thing he remembered, Paul was laying in his own bed.

He was thought to be missing at 5:30pm yesterday, when he failed to show up to the scheduled interview. He was found six hours later, dumped at the entrance to his offices, unconscious, but with all his clothing intact.

His staff didn’t want to risk taking Paul to a hospital, and deal with the media and  
Hysterical fans, so they called in a nurse to check on him.

She found traces of chloroform in his system, as well as external bruising, though he had no major injury. He had been changed into a clean nightshirt.

Much to Paul’s horror, it dawned on him that the plug was still inside him. He even felt Bob’s fluid inside, still inside.

He ran out to the bathroom, and vomited in the toilet. His head was spinning, the room was spinning. He pressed his cheek against the rim. He was so dizzy.

Spinning...  
Spinning...  
Spinning...

In accordance with the 1984 film “Give My Regards to Broad Street”, the whole experience has been a dream. The whole movie had been a dream Paul had in a taxi whilst in traffic on a rainy day. Nice movie conclusion, man.

Anyway, he likely forgot the dream immediately after being awakened by Steve, as you do. I’d like to thank rock n roll legend and filmmaker Paul McCartney for the existence of this film. To this day he remains “Healthy, Happy, and Alive”.

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Also I know chloroform takes five minutes to kick in, so the damp cloth Theory is a myth. However, “Give my Regards to Broad Street” is a movie, therefore it uses film logic.
> 
> I felt a bit bad about wanting to write out this sick twisted thing but then I read an assisted suicide necrophilia mclennon fanfic on here, Beatles vore, and Beatles piss diaper kink, and suddenly I don’t feel as bad about myself. He won’t read this, and he gets a lot of clout from the people who put beatles on a pedestal anyway. He’s got a statue, a Cirque du Soleil show, hot wife. Things seem to be going ok for the guy.


End file.
